On the packed patio of a Mexican restaurant 
my hair is damp in waves, undulating snake
in the soft kiss of cigarette wind, still sticky humid
with a rain that won’t come. Your margarita
shimmers, crystals of ice crushed, salt lick.
The waitress laughs at my bottle of Splenda,
I guzzle tea like it’s an antidote to any suffering.
Sunglasses aid in a dissociation, douse the scene
in a purple haze, diffuse the runoff of a melting sun.
Light warps on glittery skin. I watch the people
and the cars down the slope past the parking lot.
Someone is always dying, this is the popular
ambulance route. Sirens crackle distant over chatter,
but it has nothing to do with me. The sparrows
have no sorrow, scarfing grains of softened rice
scattered beneath the mesh of metal tabletops.
They hop and dodge patrons’ legs, flit to the gutters.
I could join, skittish, small, decorate myself in feathers.
Lord knows I drown in enough tar to make it stick.
You scroll endless news reels on your phone, the ice
in your complimentary water dissolving, sweat beads
dripping off the glass and down your exposed thigh. I avert
my gaze from any slight glimpse of horror, try to focus,
lemon between my teeth, happy to breathe in air.